“Mr. Varick has written a note to Mr. Trent saying that it is by Paula's own wish, and that she does not want to see him again.” “That's a lie, isn't it?” I asked. “Probably it is. But I don't think Paula will see him. If she has promised her father, she certainly won't. Now, what are you going to do about it?” she concluded calmly, laying down her implement and fixing me with an accusing eye. “What am _I_--” “Don't try to evade your responsibility, dominie. It's all your doing.” “Just because it isn't turning out right,” I said hotly. “You know perfectly well, lassie, that if everything had gone smoothly you would have--” “Claimed all the credit.” The Bonnie Lassie, dimpling, took the words out of my mouth. “And quite right too. When I manage things they're--they're _managed_. Once again I ask you, dominie: What are you going to do about it?” I walked over to the window and looked out, leaning on my cane. Against a pale corner of the sky, the cage top loomed haggard and grim. A swift and soaring notion sprang into being in my mind. “I'm going to borrow your telephone,” said I. Getting Miss Paula Varick was no slight task. I had to run the gauntlet of half a dozen questioners--they were guarding her against the onslaught of the predatory Trent, I suppose--before she answered me, not in the softly ringing music of her familiar voice, but with a deadened tonelessness which both startled and reassured me. When I had delivered my message, I returned to the studio. “Well?” queried the Bonnie Lassie. “I have just talked with Paula.” “What did she say?” “She said, as nearly as I recall, 'Oh!' Also, 'Thank you, dominie!'” “Don't be a horrid and exasperating old man. What did you say to her?” “I gave her some interesting news about a local landmark.” The Bonnie Lassie came over to me in three swift little bounds like a kitten, and pointed some sort of high-art tool at my chin. “Tell me at once,” she commanded. “I've just informed Miss Varick that the cage on the roof of No. 13 has been ordered removed not later than tomorrow.” “Has it?” “Thinking,” I pursued serenely, “that she might wish to take a final look at the place where she first tasted the delights of chewing-gum,--these crucial experiences of childhood, you know--” “Don't be a goose, dominie. Suppose she doesn't come?” “Then you were wrong, and she doesn't really care for him.” The Bonnie Lassie lowered her tool and bestowed a glance of approval upon me which encouraged me to continue. “She might even want to go up to the housetop once more.” “She might,” agreed the Bonnie Lassie thoughtfully. “That could be arranged--in case she does.” “A little judicious stimulus to her mind,” I suggested, “if it doesn't occur to her.” “Leave it to me.”